


Eveline

by doomcanary



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gender Dsyphoria, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oneshot set in a slightly different genderverse. Treville saves the Inseparables' dignity, and connects with Aramis in unexpected ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eveline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CPFics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPFics/gifts).
  * Inspired by [In Confidence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520423) by [CPFics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPFics/pseuds/CPFics). 
  * Inspired by [In Confidence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520423) by [CPFics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPFics/pseuds/CPFics). 



> This was inspired by both In Confidence and a comment thread that turned up on it. In Confidence is where both the 'verse and (my knowledge of) the interesting pronouns come from! 
> 
> For the uninitiated, 'ne' is one of many modern gender-neutral pronouns and goes 'ne/nem/nir/nemself'. Aramis in this fic is genderfluid, which means feeling oneself to be different genders at different times. Athos is agender (doesn't feel like any gender or combination of genders at all) and prefers to be addressed as 'they' rather than 'he'. 
> 
> Really though, read the other one first. This all makes a lot more sense that way, plus it's a much nicer way to learn XD

It's early afternoon when Treville rides back into the courtyard of the garrison; he swings down off his horse and picks out Athos and d'Artagnan from the circle of men watching two of their best swordsmen spar.

“You two, my office please,” he says.

They follow him up without question.

“The King wants to see all four of you,” he announces without preamble. “Preferably about an hour ago. Where are the other two?”

“The King?” echoes d'Artagnan in surprise.

“The King.”

“That may be a problem,” says Athos. “Aramis is... unwell today.”

“I was wondering where Porthos was. Hm.” Treville folds his arms. “In most circumstances I'd just pass on Aramis's apologies, but unexplained illnesses have a habit of attracting attention at Court.”

“I don't believe,” says Athos slowly, “that Aramis would enjoy that.”

“But equally, as Aramis's commander I am not willing to force nem into a situation which could cause undue distress.”

“But we can't put off the King!” d'Artagnan says, horrified.

Treville folds his arms and runs his fingers down his narrow beard, thoughtful.

“Perhaps it might be better if we were to discuss this with Porthos and Aramis as well,” he suggests.

“Couldn't Constance-” Athos begins.

“Constance is away visiting her sister,” d'Artagnan says, looking ridiculously lost. Athos resists the urge to roll their eyes.

“Well, then I suppose the Captain's idea is the only course of action,” he decides. Treville pushes himself up off the desk edge and steps towards the door.

“There is just one stop I'd like to make along the way,” he says.

 

Porthos is not expecting a knock on the street door; it startles him out of a comfortable half-sleep, curled up around Aramis on the bed.

“Who could that be?” says Aramis. “Their royal highness isn't due back for hours.”

“I dunno, do I?” shrugs Porthos sleepily. “I haven't opened the door.”

He goes downstairs.

“Captain,” he says in surprise. “Athos.”

“We may have a problem,” Athos says crisply.

“Like what?” asks Porthos.

“All four of you are expected at the palace,” says Treville. “His Majesty asked for you by name.”

Athos exchanges looks with Porthos and d'Artagnan.

“Well Aramis can't go,” says Porthos. “It's been a rough day.”

“I was afraid you'd say that,” says Athos. “Ne looked terrible this morning.”

“Ne's OK now, but it took a while, we -”

“Gentlemen,” butts in Treville.

“Sorry, Sir,” say Athos and Porthos in unison.

“That's getting creepy,” says d'Artagnan.

“GENTLEMEN,” repeats Treville, rather more sharply. D'Artagnan opens his mouth to apologise, catches Athos's eye and closes it again.

“I was about to say that the rest of you will simply have to inform His Majesty that Aramis has been called away on urgent family business,” Treville goes on.

“You mean the three of us will attend without him,” says Athos.

“Exactly.”

“Who's going to-” begins Porthos. Treville interrupts him.

“If you're willing,” he says carefully, “I would be very happy to keep Aramis company.”

Porthos and Athos exchange a dubious look.

“If and only if it's OK with Aramis,” says Porthos.

“Perhaps I should talk to nem.” Athos goes inside, and their footsteps sound on the stairs. The remaining three wait for what seems an eternity; voices come faintly from above. Eventually a door opens and Athos's footsteps descend.

“Ne seems happy with the idea,” they say.

“I consider it an honour,” says Treville with a bow. Porthos looks askance at him, and shepherds him reluctantly up the stairs to Aramis's rooms. Treville doffs his hat and removes his gloves, and waits at attention near the door as Porthos disappears into the bedroom.

When the door swings open again Treville is stunned into silence. Aramis is wearing powder blue, a shade which makes nir skin look hypnotically dusky, and the soft sheen of the fabric is set off by a froth of creamy lace ruffles at the neck. Ne smiles, a little shyly, and says “Captain Treville.”

“Please,” says Treville, purely on instinct. “Call me Jean.”

Aramis tilts nir head and smiles. At nir shoulder, Porthos blinks.

“Porthos,” says Aramis. “I believe that the Captain – that Jean,” ne corrects nemself, casting a slightly bashful glance at Treville, “is a gentleman, and I'm not worried in the least. Go and do your duty to the King. I'm okay now.” Ne squeezes Porthos's arm and gently nudges him towards the door. Porthos radiates awkwardness every step of the way, and Aramis has to cross over and give him a gentle kiss before he concedes the room to Treville. As his footsteps recede there's a silence in the room; Aramis smooths nir skirts with an oddly apologetic air.

“I didn't think you'd do something like this,” ne says at length, once the clatter of boots from downstairs has moved away.

“As I said,” replies Treville. “Anything I can do to help.”

Aramis gives him a considering look.

“What do you suggest we do to pass the time?” ne asks. “I don't think it would be quite appropriate to spend it the same way Athos or Porthos and I usually do.” Ne flushes, and clears nir throat.

“Ah,” says Treville knowingly. He reaches under his cloak and produces a small basket covered with a snow-white cloth. Whisking the cloth away, he reveals a veritable paradise of sweetmeats. Strawberry tartlets rub shoulders with pastries clad in coats of powdered sugar as rich as furs, and at the centre of the basket nestles a true piece de resistance – a glossy, deep brown chocolate torte. Such a thing would only be seen at the grandest of Court occasions, the very height of exotic culinary fashion.

“I thought perhaps,” he smiles, “that Mademoiselle might care to take tea.”

Aramis's face lights up. “I'll put the kettle on,” ne says.

 

As Treville watches Aramis busy nemself about setting out the tea things, he notices that there has been a subtle change in nir body language. Nir hands move more quickly and lightly, nir face is open and seems constantly ready to smile; and there's a change of focus about nir whole being, from the calm, control and focus of Aramis the soldier to something altogether less rigidly defined. It moves him to see it, and confirms to him that he has made the right decision in supporting one of the best of his men.

Of his regiment, he corrects himself.

“There,” says Aramis, setting the teapot down. “We'll let it brew.”

“If I may say so,” says Treville, “you look radiant.”

Aramis blushes and smiles very widely indeed. Ne opens nir mouth as if to speak and spends a long moment silent, trying to frame words.

“Thankyou,” ne says finally.

“It is quite sincerely my pleasure,” says Treville. He pauses, and decides that he may as well come to the point. “I once knew someone else a little like you.”

Aramis tilts nir head again, looking intrigued. “I've been wanting to ask about that,” ne says. “You're surprisingly familiar with the niceties of neutral pronouns and – unusual identities.”

Treville looks down at the table for a moment – the cloth is embroidered with slightly lopsided violets at the corners – and indulges the rush of bittersweet nostalgia the question brings.

“It was nearly ten years ago,” he says. “Her name was Eveline. I met her walking in the Tuileries one morning. I had never known such a fascinating woman; she had so much fire, such insight – to this day I think only the Cardinal has a clearer eye for political affairs.”

“She sounds wonderful,” says Aramis.

“So she was,” says Treville. “We met often, and grew to be close. I am not ashamed to say I would have married her; indeed I was on the point of proposing.”

“You changed your mind?”

“No, I – she -” Treville trails off. Aramis lets the silence sit for a moment, then tactfully reaches forward to pour the tea. Treville appreciates the respite.

“What happened?” Aramis asks gently, when the cups are full and the clinking of spoons has died away.

Treville sighs. Aramis has never seen him look so human; nir heart goes out to him.

“We dined in her apartments one night,” he says. “The wine flowed, and – we forgot ourselves. I discovered by accident that she shared your unfortunate accident of birth.”

Aramis looks shocked.

“It was she who broke it off after that,” Treville finishes. “In all honesty, I didn't conduct myself like a gentleman at first, but – once I'd had a chance to calm myself, I spoke to her again and apologised, and she was gracious enough to forgive.”

“Why did she break it off?” asks Aramis.

Treville looks pained and takes a sip of his tea.

“I hope I'm not prying,” says Aramis.

“No.” He looks up. “I've wanted to be able to talk to someone about this for years.”

Aramis's eyes widen a little and nir hand reflexively spreads out on the table, as if unconsciously reaching for his.

“She wept when I told her I would still be willing for us to wed,” he says. “She told me she would love nothing more, but she was ashamed – both of what she was, and all the risk of scandal that came with it, and that she could never bear children, even to a man as deserving as me.”

“Oh, Jean,” says Aramis, and nir hand closes gently over Treville's own.

“I still find it hard to see what made me so deserving after the way I spoke to her when I found out,” Treville adds quietly.

“You are a man of honour and you are courageous enough to try to mend your mistakes,” says Aramis. “Many of your so-called betters can't do as much, and wouldn't bother to try. Louis put you in charge of his Musketeers for a reason.”

“I tell myself that a man must make mistakes in order to better himself,” says Treville ruefully. “Lord knows I've made enough by now to be wise.”

“It's strange how it seems to take a shock to make people learn,” Aramis agrees.

There's a pause. Aramis finishes nir tea and pours another cup. Treville belatedly remembers his own. He finds it a rather insipid beverage, truth be told, but the ritual of company and conversation is a pleasant one.

“I pressed her at first,” he says. “But in the end I realised I could never force her to live a life that made her feel so incomplete.”

“And so you let her go,” says Aramis. “A gentleman to the bone.”

“Ever since then I've paid careful attention to any such people I meet, and learnt all I can to make myself a better friend to them. It seemed such an unjust world for Eveline.”

There's another long, quiet pause.

“I'm almost grateful I don't feel that way myself,” says Aramis finally. “To have the courage to walk out in public, I wish – I admire her. I wish I thought it were possible for me. But my face is known as a Musketeer, and I never know from one day to the next whether I'll wake up feeling like a simple soldier or – this. I don't know whether it would be easier or harder to be so sure.”

Treville sits back, and looks into Aramis's eyes.

“You're right,” he says. “It may never be possible for someone like you to live like Eveline.”

There's a hint of the other Aramis in the expression that crosses nir face then; something that blends a soldier's wry acceptance and pragmatism with the sweet sadness of this impossible situation. Porthos had spoken fairly; it seemed Aramis was genuinely pulling through.

“I will promise you something, though,” Treville adds.

“Oh?”

“If you should ever decide that you wish to walk out in the Tuileries, then I will be beside you to give you my arm.”

Unexpectedly Aramis darts round the table and drops to nir knees to tightly hug Treville. Ne blinks away moisture from nir eyes.

“And I promise you I will do my very best not to become so crazed that I ask you to destroy your reputation by doing so,” ne says.

“Please,” says Treville. “Don't talk like Eveline.”

“You were right, Jean,” says Aramis. “It is an unjust world.”

Treville takes both of Aramis's hands and squeezes them for a long moment.

“I'm terribly sorry,” he says. “Athos and Pothos were so worried about you, and now I've made our tea-party rather sombre.”

“Athos and Porthos worry more than they should,” smiles Aramis. “I'm not _just_ a damsel in distress. It's nice to get outside my own problems once in a while. But I'd completely forgotten about those wonderful cakes. Shall we?”

“Let's,” replies Treville.

 

Athos and Porthos leave the palace in a collectively terrible mood, worse even than the one they'd arrived in. Louis had kept them sweating in his garden for the best part of the afternoon while he received several nobles and bickered with the Cardinal, and when he had finally deigned to speak to them it had been entirely to ask about the possibility of organising a shooting game for a visiting nobleman's horde of obnoxious children.

“Why he couldn't have sent a letter,” grumbles Porthos.

“One doesn't have to be practical when one is King,” Athos replies. They stump their way up the street to Aramis's rooms, and Athos uses their key to let them in.

At the top of the stairs Athos stops so suddenly that Porthos runs into their back. The sight before the two of them makes Porthos's complaints evaporate from his mind. A tea table littered with crumbs and empty cups has been pushed to one side; the windows have been thrown wide, and on a heap of cushions before the empty fireplace Treville reclines in his waistcoat, doublet discarded on a nearby chair. He is reading aloud from a book of verse to an enchanted Aramis, curled up opposite him with a gauzy shawl draped around nir bare shoulders.

Treville finishes a verse, clears his throat and nods in Athos and Porthos's direction. Aramis turns, lights up in a delighted smile, and holds out nir hands, beckoning nir two lovers to join the tableau.

“I think we can conclude that the Captain has taken good care of our valuables,” Athos decides.

Porthos just grins and goes over to Aramis, dropping down onto the cushions and tugging nem against his side. Aramis leans into him with a happy sigh. Athos opts to sit cross-legged on the floor a little way away; they're not quite comfortable to have their Captain and their relationship in the same room.

“We've had a lovely afternoon,” says Aramis. “I would love to do this again sometime.”

“I'd be delighted,” replies Treville. He sets aside the book and sits up, somewhat conscious of the lack of dignity in his present pose. There's a rather awkward silence.

“We shouldn't keep you from your duty,” says Athos dryly, after a while.

“As I should not keep you from your peace,” says Treville with good grace. He rises.

“Jean?” says Aramis. Treville pauses.

“I'm very glad you came today.”

Treville bows. “The pleasure is mine.”

He gathers his doublet and cloak, and leaves them alone.

“You look happy,” says Porthos, holding Aramis away to examine nem.

“Ne does,” Athos agrees, sliding over to bracket nir other side.

“I really think I've found a friend,” says Aramis.

“Should we be jealous?”

“Athos, don't be silly,” Aramis replies. “The Captain is a gentleman through and through. I think after today I have even more respect for him than I did before.”

“I'm dying to know,” says Porthos.

“That's not for me to tell,” says Aramis. “Although... I think next time we pass that way, I'd like to go and look at the Tuileries.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [So Stay With Me, Eveline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666871) by [CPFics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPFics/pseuds/CPFics)




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